


With Me in the Tempest

by kangelique



Series: Shelter in the Rain [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Car Accidents, Character Death, Declarations Of Love, Did try to include some light moments, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Gen, Guilt, Healing, Hugs, I did a bit of research, I'm no expert, I've been wanting to do a roommate AU..., Killian is pretty messed up, Kissing, Nightmares, Not Emma or Killian though, Panic Attacks, Rain, Some Sex, Thunderstorms, although that is sort of a given..., damaged hand, pasts, traumas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-06 10:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangelique/pseuds/kangelique
Summary: He remembered it all. It came so vivid. They weren't nightmares, they were memories. The three honks that echoed a late warning, the terrible screech of the tires, how the car was thrown sideways and glass shattered before his eyes. He lost everything that day, and he doesn't deserve someone as beautiful as Emma Swan with her sky high walls who just showed up at his apartment door and sort of crept under his skin like no other woman had. Not even Milah. But as anyone that is also broken, Emma shares that same look in her eyes. The look of someone who's haunted, and when her own memories keep her awake at night, Killian is there, ready to envelop her in his arms . It's selfish, isn't it? But he's beginning to feel things, and he knows that can't be. Not when he's ruined everything beautiful that has ever crossed his path.Emma doesn't care. She touches him like they could be something.





	With Me in the Tempest

**Author's Note:**

> Took me a while to get this idea out, but i was FINALLY able to get it onto paper after some attempts. Nobody asked for this, I just really like writing for Emma and Killian, and also wanted to begin exploring how good I am in writing about traumatic experiences and how that affected him and well, hope you like it.

**With Me in the Tempest:**

 

_"You can't keep doing this, brother."_

 

_"May I remind you that you're not father," Killian mumbled under his breath irritably. He leaned forward just a bit, squinting his eyes as he did to better see the road ahead, the glow of the sun a nuisance to his vision._

 

_"Don't talk about that bastard, he doesn't even deserve the name," Liam shook his head, a scowl already forming on his face just at the mention of him. Yeah, they'd had a terrible father. Killian himself grit his teeth and his knuckles turned almost white where they suddenly gripped the steering wheel tightly- that hateful son of a bitch. "But this behavior has to stop," he continued and Killian sighed. "God, all of this over a blasted woman," he shook his head again and KIllian's foot accelerated on the gas with a little too much force. They practically zoomed past the white line, yellow light turning red in the rear view mirror._

 

_"Milah, her name is Milah," Killian said and he wanted to sigh too. Why did he bother? Why did he STILL bother? Months had passed, hadn't they? All his calls remained unanswered, his text messages were seen but not responded to. And yet..."You know what, let's not do this. Please, brother, I'm not in the mood for another-"_

 

_"Well you keep falling back in, Killian! Tell me what I'm supposed to do, let you keep running after her, let you ruin your life over a woman who will never be-"_

 

_"I SAID DON'T!" he barked. He was breathing hard, jaw clenching as he trained his eyes on the green light and the countdown, speed dial racing up to fifty without thought. He needed to get there. He needed to pass that stupid light and forget that she was marrying another, that he'd been about to crash her wedding rehearsal, that she hadn't...He shook his head, why dwell on it now?_

 

_Three honks sounded from somewhere. To his right, perhaps?_

 

_"Listen, Killian," Liam began, his voice much softer. "I know it hurts-"_

 

_Killian cut him off with a wave of his hand. He couldn't bear to hear the sympathy. "With all due respect, brother, but you know noth-"_

 

_"Killian, watch out!"_

 

"No," Killian awoke with wild wide eyes, a leg kicking out and springing upright while an arm lashed out to his left and knocked the books down from the top of his nightstand. They landed on the floor with heavy thuds, but he didn't wince. Blood pounded in his ears, and his hand blindly searched for the invisible bottle of rum that wasn't there. Unshed tears burned behind his eyes. He blinked more than once, slowly adjusting to the darkness that surrounded every bit of his space, and  _slowly_ \- at a snail's pace- the panting subsided to an even breath of in and out.

 

Rain pelted loudly against the window pane, like pebbles on stones. It took Killian a moment to actually hear it,  _hear it,_ for the screech of the tires still echoed faintly in his head. He ran a shaky hand through his tousled hair, his throat somehow tight with silent screams- there existed no comparison to the screams he'd thrown at the innocent nurses and eventually doctors who came to calm him down when he awoke stripped naked except for the light blue hospital gown, his entire left hand wrapped up in a plaster cast, and no Liam by his side. 

 

" _Where is he, where is he?!"_

 

Killian hoped in heaven, far away from viewing the depths of hell that had become his life since the crash a year ago.

 

He shifted to slide out of the bed and stand up. His knees quivered and he caught himself at the last second before they buckled out by gripping the edge of the nightstand. "Fuck," Killian closed his eyes tightly and pressed his lips firmly together to stop the hiss from leaving his mouth. "Ah," he wailed slightly when he finally straightened up and placed his left hand on the palm of his right hand. He'd have to get used to it, Dr. Whale had said. It was permanent damage, he'd said. But staring down at it as he did, it wasn't just that.

 

It was a reminder of what he'd lost that day. In broad daylight, no less. And it hurt,  _it bloody hurt,_ because they'd been having a meaningless argument, and it wasn't fair, it should have been- "Aargh!" His fist came down on the nightstand so hard that it shook, and this time he didn't try to suppress the hiss.

 

Killian straightened up for the second time and ignored the streaks of pain that went through each finger, only wincing when he carefully sidestepped around the pile of beloved books and then twisted the knob to open the door.

 

Outside, the kitchen still smelled of her coffee, and though he'd never tell this to her face, he loved that she left traces of herself everywhere. From the smell of roasted coffee beans to the bearclaws that were strewn messily next to each other in their to-go box, to the white mug that read " _IT'S COFFEE O'CLOCK_ " in black print and the chairs that were never pushed back in after she got up so she was always bumping into them and cursing under her breath.

 

Killian ran his hand through his hair again, and his sock-covered feet seemed to have gained a mind of their own. He walked without a sense of direction -his heart aching in his chest, always aching when he was forced to relieve the worst day of his life- and almost five seconds later, he stopped at a glossy wooden door similar to his.

 

His mind was a cruel thing. The broken pieces of that beaten organ were a traitor when he raised his hand to the door and almost,  _almost_ knocked. It hung mid-air, just an inch, just a breath from making his presence known. Killian swallowed thickly. He took an unsteady step back and his hand fell back to his side, the crease in his lowered eyebrows and the frown that fought to take up residence on one side of his face speaking volumes. He wanted to. He really wanted to. She was an anchor, but he wouldn't dare call her his. 

 

No, Emma Swan should never feel free to slide her fingers through his scarred ones. 

 

He shook his head, half nodding to convince himself, half turning to leave and intent on pacing the hallway back and forth until his demons quieted enough that-something fell-something that sounded distinctly like glass-and he spun back around.

 

"Swan?" Killian called in worriedly, scarred hand falling on the knob without thought, and there  _should_ have been hesitance because the truth was they were still strangers. He'd promised not to care. He twisted it this way and that, yanking it hard, but it didn't budge. Sharp pains pierced through the inside of his flesh and he grit his teeth against it, eyes squeezing shut and his forehead weakly hitting the door. "Swan, are you alright?"

 

There was silence on her end for a few minutes. In the rain that continued beating in the background, it felt like hours had passed, and he shouldn't compare. Killian knew it was wrong to compare, but his heart...his heart that never raced this fast for  _anyone,_ and that meant something. Something -a feeling- he'd thought he'd stopped believing in.

 

"I'm okay," she finally called back, a bit breathless, a bit like him after a nightmare, and his entire body sighed in relief. Her voice shouldn't reach that far, right into the scars that ran along his skin like a maze of all the different paths he could have taken. The different choice he could have made. "It was just a bad dream," Emma mumbled and she sounded closer, almost as if she was sitting with her back against the door, knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around them. Killian didn't move. He shouldn't do this.

 

He shouldn't picture those perfectly beautiful, perfectly stunning green eyes the way that he did. He shouldn't be so confident in the fact that there were no doubt small wisps of hair framing her face, the ones that always refused to be tamed by her braid. The ones he'd imagined putting back behind her ear.

 

"Aye, I know the feeling," he said softly. 

 

"Mmm," she hummed and it was a distant hum. He could practically  _see_ her biting her lower lip and playing with the silver pendant that belonged to the necklace around her neck. A tell. Everyday it was there, hidden under cream sweaters and leather jackets, contradicting every argument she'd ever made about not being sentimental. Not even a little. "No, it's not a tell, Jones, get over it. I'm not even playing with it right now," Emma argued a bit exasperatedly and he chuckled softly. 

 

"You're something of an open book, love."

 

"Not your love," she reminded him, but it lacked its usual defensiveness. Killian imagined her rolling her eyes back to stare at the ceiling when the light  _thump!_ came near his knees, and he still hadn't moved. His scarred hand was still at the knob and his other hand was pressed palm up against the wood, as if like this he could step through the wall between them and see what had shattered. Emma sighed. "What are you doing up anyway?" she asked.

 

"I'm not particularly proud of the reason why, Swan," he said shaking his head slightly because the more wretched part of him could not accept having this  _good,_ having this lovely woman just on the other side of this door. He just didn't deserve someone like Emma Swan and her rare big smiles, not after all the bad he'd done.

 

"Who ever is? I hate when this happens and I realize it's going to be another one of those long nights, and I have to go to work in the morning and..." Emma sighed. "I thought the rain would have stopped by now."

 

"Another one, love? Well, how often do these long nights come, darling?"

 

"Often enough."

 

"Ah," he nodded slowly, the crease reappearing in his eyebrows. "May I ask you a question, love?"

 

"Depends on what the question is."

 

"There's a fifty-fifty chance you might not like it," he warned.

 

"I thought you loved a challenge, Jones. And something about how you're always ready for the next adventure, sailing the high seas or however that shit goes."

Killian smirked. "So I take it you consider yourself a high seas, Swan?"

 

He  _heard_ the roll of her eyes in her groan. "God damn, Killian, just ask."

 

"What fell?"

 

"Oh," She sounded surprised he would ask  _that_ of all things. "Uh, just some picture frame, it's not important. I mean...yeah, it's not important," Emma scoffed. "I just bought it and never placed a picture and it's there. It  _was_ there, cause now the glass sort of broke, and it was empty anyway so...why do you care, Jones?"

 

Killian shrugged, a sad smile creeping in. "I was simply never quite good with photographs," he admitted and then added, "With having some, that is."

Friends, family, it had all been practically nonexistent. Liam had played many roles growing up. He shouldn't have had to. His life shouldn't have been cut so short. 

 

Emma was silent for a moment, and Killian was afraid he'd pushed. In some way, he'd wanted her to know she wasn't alone in buying picture frames with no real pictures to put in. Scars from childhood tend to linger and...he hadn't meant to push. Had he pushed?

 

"Goodnight, Killian," she finally said and there was some rustling -her standing up and no longer sitting on the other side.

 

"Goodnight," he whispered.

 

*********

 

" _Killian, watch out!"_

 

"Liam!" Killian cried out but it was swallowed up by the roar of the thunder. His eyes had popped open and he awoke breathing heavily, beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face. His shaking hands curled into fists, pulse racing fast in his veins and blood pounding in his ears for it all appeared clearer in his mind than the blur it had actually been.

 

Everything was highlighted -the color of the trees to his left-bright green and full of life and  _perfect_ for a summer wedding- the Burger King they passed before the three honks came, the almost punching Liam in the face when he'd caught Killian about to burst into Saint. Paul's church and then angrily grabbed him by the elbow, Killian shoving him away in between yelling and cursing and  _Look at what she's done to you, brother, that woman never loved you!,_ even the smell of his breath as he drove reeking of all the alcohol he'd consumed at the bar before Liam arrived, having been searching for him all night.

 

He'd stepped on the gas, the speed dial going up, and all the disappointment that gathered in the form of barely restrained tears screamed at him to get there, to just cross that green light and then, somehow, he would survive. He would and...the tires screeched against the concrete as the car was thrown sideways, his hands desperately grasping for control of the steering wheel, glass shattered before his widened eyes and there was panic and air bags going off and then...it went black.

 

Someone must have called the ambulance. Someone  _had_ called the ambulance. But it didn't matter, did it? The purple bruise on the left side of his face, the cuts along his arms and neck, the broken rib and injured leg, it had all healed within the next three months. But his brother was gone.

 

Nothing could heal that.

 

Lightning flashed behind the small opening of the navy curtains, and Killian pushed himself off of the bed on trembling legs. He was still blinking rapidly, strong tension seizing his muscles as he took a small breath and snatched  _Macbeth_ from the tower on top of his nightstand and then opened the door with his good hand. Another zap of lightning struck in the distance and reflected its shadow directly on the wall next to him; angry thunder clapped loudly two seconds later, and he shook his head at the idea of tea. The palpitations of his heart had not yet slowed down enough, he reasoned, he needed to sit.

 

"I'm sorry, brother," Killian mumbled and his slightly less shaky hands clutched at the book tightly as if it could steady him, but no amount of apologies would bring him back. Even his eyes had grown devoid of tears, so many times had the sob escaped standing at his grave with his head bent low and hands stuffed into his pockets that now all his legs would automatically do was walk down the hallway mindlessly, wave after wave of something that felt completely like  _guilt_ with every step he took closer to the living room, every breath he fought to control in and out, in and out...

 

His head snapped up at Emma's shout, so sudden that the book slipped from his vice-like grip and his feet jumped into a run; his eyes instantly widened in fear and he was sure the gasp had gotten caught in his throat. Liam had shouted something too, something else, right before the car had violently collided into a street pole and then landed hard on the pavement -his last words, and Killian had stopped thinking altogether, pushing the door open and stumbling over his own feet as he rushed to her side, moving on instinct when the bed dipped with his weight and he slung one leg over her thrashing one, catching her arm mid-swing and his other arm wrapping quickly around her waist to pull her against his chest, ankle twisting with hers as he was pulled forward with her wild kicking and squirming shoulders.

 

"Swan. Swan, hey," Killian whispered gently and brought his lips down to her ear, chancing brushing away the two strands that slashed across her face and tucking them behind her ear ever so carefully. His arm loosened around her waist as her kicking died down. "Shh, it's alright, Emma. It's okay, love, no one wants to hurt you. Just a bad dream is all. Just a bad dream, darling, " he repeated, closing his eyes and feeling how her breathing slowly calmed with each minute, its heaviness fading and in its place was Killian's own chest keeping time with hers. Up, and down, In, and out. "That's right, sweetheart, that's right," he encouraged softly, his scarred hand running as soothingly along her arm as best he could. "You can wake up now, Swan. No one will harm you, dear. No one," he promised and his nose ghosted over her earlobe, and there was a shiver. Was it his spine or hers that shivered at the  _almost touch ?_

 

Maybe both. Maybe him because he hadn't meant to put so much meaning into this, into the way her body curled and his treacherous body curled right with her so that her ass was now brushed up ever so slightly against his stomach and his face had received the faintest trace of vanilla as she moved and  _Emma._ He was spooning Emma.

 

"Fuck, I... _water_ ," Emma gasped the last word out and he winced at the horror with which she pronounced it. "there was so much water," She shook her head and her eyes had not yet opened, and his scarred hand -his  _ugly_ hand- shouldn't have. The knuckles of his scarred hand shouldn't have begun to run lightly along her cheek, fingers dancing a trail down as it went, and Emma really,  _really,_ should not have brought her own hand up -that soft, beautiful hand- to catch his wrist and then entwine their fingers together as easy as entwining their breath would be, as if the scars didn't exist. "That tickles," she said simply.

 

His breath had hitched. She hadn't cringed from the feel of his skin or recoiled from having it so near, from the scars he himself wrinkled his nose at and stared at with disgust. Instead she brought their joined hands up to the middle of her cheek and tilted her head to the side and sighed. "I don't want to talk about it," she muttered.

 

"If that's what you wish," Killian nodded once and perhaps this was the part where he disentangled himself, but she shifted and now her ass really was against his stomach and his arm tightened around her waist and she tugged on their linked hands so he would move forward with her, and he did. He did and she was...everything a villain like him did not deserve. Not if he lived up to three hundred years.

 

"A one time thing," Emma whispered, barely audible in the roar of the thunder and jarring strike of the lightning. 

 

"What?"

 

"Don't leave," she said quietly and he felt the blush that came with her words. "But I swear if you try anything I  _will_ kick you in the balls and burn all your favorite books."

 

Killian chuckled and he saw one corner of her mouth tick up. "Tough lass," he remarked and she shrugged, lips set in a tight line to keep from smiling. "But you needn't worry, love, I'm content in holding you." Bloody hell, had he seriously just admitted that to Emma Swan?

 

  
Shit.

 

He still wasn't thinking, he was still in a daze of vanilla and...could that be cinnamon too?

 

"I actually believe you," she said and Killian's eyebrows pinched together at the surprise and tiniest hint of  _regret_ in her voice. And not for the first time, he wondered who had hurt this woman.

 

"I'd never lie to you, Emma," Killian affirmed in the most sincere tone he could muster, his throat thick with emotion given the implication that this lost girl who'd shown up at apartment 9B almost a year ago had known the same wretched heartache that came forth with broken promises and endless lies.

 

Now wasn't that a kindred spirit?

 

Emma's body had tensed up and she was silent for such a long time that his eyelids had begun to fall, plunging into the darkness of his mind and then pulled back up to the darkness of her room when she inhaled a deep breath, as if gathering her strength. "Just for tonight, Killian," she said and then cuddled her back further into his chest, not letting go of his hand, and her saying his name like that,  _like she cares,_ it...did something to him. Something nice, something quite foreign.

 

"Until the dawn," he promised.

 

"Yeah, the dawn," she repeated.

 

"Night, love," Killian whispered into her hair and yes, cinnamon. Cinnamon and vanilla. 

 

God, it shouldn't be this easy. But Emma was...well, she was like a light at the end of the tunnel and all he truly wanted was to reach it, touch it, admire it for its glow, and hold it in his hands -even with his scarred hand that, for once, didn't feel quite so damaged beyond repair in her grasp.

 

"Still not your love," she mumbled, but he didn't miss the way her thumb brushed over the pink scar that ran all to the tip of forefinger, and Killian just sighed because he was a selfish bastard who wanted more than he deserved and Emma was simply too beautiful to ruin.

 

"Not you, Swan, not you," he finally said out loud, long after she'd drifted in his arms.

 

*********

 

The bitter cold and angry bite of the wind that whooshed in between old buildings and tapped incessantly on the windows was now replaced with the blossom of flowers and the return of the trees's leaves and lost hue. The hours of daylight had increased, and more and more Killian found himself rising with the dawn to nurture a steaming cup of chamomile at the counter, but only once had he gotten the courage to speak to his brother.

 

His love for the mornings had come back, and he couldn't say for sure what it was. But maybe it was Emma stumbling into the kitchen, incredibly messy braid and lazy movements, muttering  _coffee, coffee, coffee_  under her breath, that made his waking up so early all the more worth it. 

 

Maybe he had just grown to love being the first face she saw, even when she snapped at him and grumbled and then plopped down on the stool next to him with a bowl of fruit loops and sometimes put her head on his shoulder when she was just  _that_ tired, and they never talked about that night.

 

Now Killian lay on his bed, surrounded by humid air and stirred up by the same three honks, and horrible screech of the tires, and the last goodbye that never made it past his lips. The sounds, the truck that collided right into the passenger seat, the argument, it was all less highlighted, but regardless he awoke with a gasp and the same sadness squeezing his heart.

 

The door creaked open and Killian turned his head to the threshold. He blinked twice, and she wasn't wearing her usual flannel pijamas.

 

"Swan?" he questioned as he sat up and she closed the door quietly behind her. He watched with a confused expression how she took a small step forward and already he  _knew_ she was biting her lip, debating with herself, always debating.

 

Emma reached his side in four long strides and looked down at him with her arms crossed protectively over her stomach. "I can't sleep," she confessed in a small voice, and that was probably the most vulnerable thing he'd ever heard her say.

 

He nodded and patted the space beside him. She went around to the other side and climbed onto the mattress without a word. He lay back down again as she settled down next to him, her body facing him this time, knees curled up and hands used a makeshift pillow.

 

For a moment, they just stayed there, listening to the sound of rain showering the streets. But then Killian turned and his hand fell on her hip. Emma shifted closer and looped her leg over one of his, and his arm went fully around her waist at the same time, and suddenly she was on top of his chest.

 

"Killian."

 

"Aye, love?"

 

"About earlier...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you," Emma sighed and shook her head. "It's just that when I was kid people were always letting me down and-"

 

He cut her off by cupping her cheek. Her widened eyes met his. "I don't intend to let you down,"  he whispered.

 

Emma smiled sadly and nodded, settling her head back under his chin and searching for his hand until he brought it and entwined his fingers with hers for the second time.

 

They never talk about that night either. Not once do they bring it up in between flipping pancakes and arguing about Emma's health choices regarding strawberry poptarts. Not once is it uttered when she's sitting cross-legged on the floor helping him grade papers in the evening, or when she has to stay extra late at the office and he takes the bus to come bearing her grilled cheese and onion rings from Granny's.

 

They never talk about that night  _or nights._ Every night after that night, Emma comes into his room and he envelopes her in his arms and their legs tangle up and she always takes his scarred hand in her soft one without ever flinching. And it becomes a habit.

 

_Bloody hell,_ Killian's good hand stills at the realization. She sighs and snuggles her cheek further against his black undershirt covered chest, right there on her spot, eyes closed in a deep slumber and the smallest of content smiles on her face. The corners of his mouth tick up at the sight, and he returns to lovingly caressing her hair, fingers starting from the crown of her head and lightly brushing over the intricate beginning of her fishtail braid before going back up again. And it's her spot.

 

The spot where his heart beats an unsteady rhythm is hers.

 

When did that happen?

 

*********

 

" _Killian, watch out!"_

 

"Killian?"

 

"Liam!" His eyes suddenly snap open to a familiar silhouette in front of him, and he feels soft hands come to slide over his cheeks and cup his face. He's breathing heavily and his hands are shaking uncontrollably where they fisted into the mattress. She now stared down at him and his frightened gaze is pulled up to meet hers in the dark.

 

"It's okay, it was just a nightmare," Emma said. When she leaned forward, his nose is infiltrated by the smell of vanilla and cinnamon as he jumps upright and crashes into her, his scarred hand coming up to tangle in her hair even as sharp ripples of pain go through his fingers, and he buries his face in her shoulder. He expelled a small sigh of relief against her skin, and he's giving himself away for sure but he doesn't bloody care. She's real, and the glass that shattered before his eyes...that was real too. 

 

But she's real now, in the present, and the quiet inhale she does right by his neck when he puts his palm flat on her back to pull her closer can confirm that.

 

"No," Killian breathed and shook his head. "I'm afraid that was all too real, Liam is..." His voice trailed off, and his body shuddered against her small frame as if cold. Would it ever get better? If in two years he still could not utter the word out loud, then when?

 

"He's in a better place," Emma mumbled softly as her fingers tenderly stroke the curls at the nape of his neck, slowly sifting through and his eyelashes fell tiredly to the strap of her tank top.

 

"How could you possibly know that, darling?"

 

"Because if he was anything like you then he's in a better place, Jones."

 

Killian scoffed. "Trust me, love, we were  _nothing_ alike."

 

"No, trust  _me,_ "Emma told him firmly. "You have a mark in the hero column," she said gently.

 

"He is - _was,_ fuck." Killian sighed and his good hand twitches at her back, so used to running his hand through his hair and he might just shut up because his vision is getting blurry and the way she just tilted her head to the side so that her cheek lightly grazes his as she pulls back to search his eyes, and her lips almost,  _almost,_ brush the corner of his mouth well...he nearly believes she could be right, he could be good.

 

"He was what?" Emma prompted quietly.

 

Killian had to blink a few times. She's so close. Like this, he could adore every inch of her if she wanted him to. Her breath still smelled of that milk chocolate bar she'd ate with a glass of milk after their grocery shopping at Walmart, and suddenly he just has this incredible urge to plunge his tongue into her parted lips and finally  _know_ her kiss. Finally act upon those heated gazes, and here it would be so easy to grab her by the thighs and spin them around in one quick motion, and make her writhe under him, and have her nails dig so deep into his back that skin would cut, and his name would screamed out in-

 

"Jones."

 

"Aye, love?"

 

"Your brother."

 

_Liam._

 

"Ah, my apologies, lass, I lost myself for a moment there." The last word came out in a whisper, but Emma just nodded at him to go ahead. He sighed, he couldn't love her. He was a broken man. No fragment of his heart could afford to love Emma Swan, yet the way she cupped his cheeks with her soft hands and smoothed her thumb over the stubble with a small smile, so warm and like  _she cares,_ no fragment of Killian's heart could also afford NOT to love her.

 

Fuck.

 

"Hey, you can tell me," Emma encouraged softly, and she truly can't believe it. What a savior she is, what a light.  _My light in the tempest,_ he'd thought so many times. So many bloody times.

 

"I always called myself a survivor," Killian started quietly, his nose and eyebrows scrunching up and his head shaking of its own accord. "And then the car accident happened, and that's exactly what I was : a survivor." He looked down and Emma still hadn't moved her hands away. He didn't want her to. "But Liam wasn't so lucky. He bled out on the way to the hospital, they said, but it was my fault, Swan, because he wasn't supposed to be there with me. He had such a future and I took that away, he wasn't supposed to be looking after his little brother anymore. He was supposed to be  _happy,_ and it left Elsa devastated and now he'll never know that he was to be a father and that the little lad looks just like him-" A sob broke free and Emma let go of his cheeks to wrap her arms around his neck as he cried.

 

"It wasn't your fault," she muttered.

 

The surprising thing was, coming from this woman, some part of Killian had begun to believe it was true. 

 

*********

 

Rain patted softly against the window panes, and Killian smiled weakly into her shoulder. The soothing sound reminded him faintly of London when he was growing up, anxiously awaiting for his brother to come home and drowning out the fear by reading page after page of  _Oliver Twist._ Emma's thumb dug into a particular hyper sensitive tissue on the palm of his scarred hand and he winced.

 

"Sorry," she mumbled but moved on to firmly rubbing her thumb along each of his fingers, pressing down slightly on each of the tips as she went. He hummed in the back of his throat, opting to hide his face in the crook of her neck so as to not have her see the anguish knit of his eyebrows and the quick downturn of one side of his mouth that she'd already caught from the corner of eye twice.

 

"It's alright, sweetheart, I can handle it," Killian assured her as much for him as it was for her. In truth, it  _hurt._ Like hell. But when she'd been pulled awake by muttered curses and a pained groan, she'd taken his scarred hand and turned on her side and began to massage it and he'd been so shocked his jaw had quite literally hung open for five seconds. No one had ever done that before. He liked it. He  really likes  _her._

 

Emma huffed in disagreement and stopped. "Is it actually helping?"

 

"Better than my physical therapy, darling," he replied easily and grinned against her skin. They still hadn't kissed. Why hadn't they kissed? He was an idiot, and perhaps...perhaps this  _something_ he felt when she laughed and genuinely smiled or she wandered into the living room whilst he was reading and she grabbed his arm and lay her head on his shoulder and tiredly closed her eyes, well he wanted more. Killian just wasn't sure  _she_ wanted more. 

 

If by more meant holding hands in public and pausing just to give her a searing kiss on the sidewalk and dates that involved a suit and tie and her in a lovely pink dress.

 

"Maybe you  _should_ go to physical therapy, Jones."

 

"Maybe," he conceded quietly and then shrugged.

 

His left hand would forever be damaged, no more sketching like a mad man, no more punching until his knuckles bruised, and for the first time in a long time it didn't feel quite so bitter when he thought about the loss of movement and the loss of Liam and the loss of everything.  _Maybe,_ some small part of him was ready to stop punishing himself.

 

"How does it feel?"

 

"What, love?"

 

"Your hand."

 

Killian sighed, mostly because he needed a moment to think, to figure out a way to phrase the pain in one sentence, and in that moment, Emma took his hand again and began to knead her thumb up each finger. "Like a thousand stabs at once," he finally admitted. For a second he was afraid she would stop when her shoulders tensed up, but then she just shifted her waist and continued, albeit more gentle with her thumb and adding stretching each finger out to the exercise. Something was bothering her, he could tell. He nudged the side of her head with his. "Something's bothering you, Swan, what is it?"

 

"It's nothing," she said too quickly and tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.

 

"No, no, no, you're vexed," he insisted and brought his good hand up to caress the apple of her cheek, catching a stray curl between his thumb and forefinger and tucking it back behind her ear. 

 

"Killian, no," Emma whined softly and blew out a long irritated breath. "Don't do that, you jerk, don't be...sweet," she mumbled and her nose wrinkled at her own confusing way of expressing herself. Killian's didn't. He understood perfectly. So he simply chuckled and pulled her closer to his chest, earning himself an elbow to the stomach. "It's not funny."

 

"Mm, well can I ask you a question then, darling?"

 

"Do you  _ever_ stop with the endearments, Jones? Like what, is it programmed or something?" Emma said, but she didn't really sound annoyed. Just evasive.

 

"It would appear that with you, I have no filter," he said, and as the words left his mouth and lingered in the air for the beat that passed, he realized how much he meant it. How much Emma was enough and yet he still couldn't get enough of her. 

 

"Okay..." Emma said slowly, warily. "The question?"

 

"Your nightmares, Swan," Killian began carefully and this time her whole body tensed up. "You always mumble 'water' in your sleep," he continued. "And I've seen how anxious you get, how easily startled when there's a thunderstorm, and I wonder, love, what is it, what about the rain frightens you so?"

 

Emma was quiet for a really long time. He was almost regretful, thinking that he'd overstepped or pushed and now she wouldn't open up. An apology was already forming on his lips -desperate to keep her here and he truly was a selfish bastard who wanted to know everything about her, the good, the bad, and the broken- when she finally inhaled a shaky deep breath and whispered, "I almost drowned," she confessed. "I was fourteen-maybe fifteen when I was placed into a new group home. God, I should have seen the signs, she just wasn't mentally well, but she and I had become close. She was like the mother I never had," Emma laughed a watery laugh and sniffed, shaking her head. "But anyway," she continued. "She was going to adopt me, she got the papers and everything, and for the first time having a family,  _a home,_ actually seemed, I don't know, possible, I guess. It's stupid, I-"

 

"It's not love," he interrupted gently. "I promise you it's not. You're not the only one cursed to live with a heart that longs for home," he told her softly, and he was right. She did share the same look in her eyes.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Emma turned to face him and reached up to cup his cheek in her palm like they were something. When she did small things like this -no easy feat for her, Killian knew-all doubts that she cared,  _more than cared,_ disappeared and he closed his eyes at her touch and sighed, a smile at the edge of his lips.

 

"So what happened, Swan?"

 

"She took me to the beach, and I told her I couldn't swim, that I didn't know  _how_ to swim. I said that I preferred to watch the ocean from afar, but she insisted, so I followed her,  _trusted her._ " Emma paused to take a deep breath and then the words sort of rushed out of her mouth in her quickly bubbling anger. "The waves were coming fast and ugly and I didn't know what to do. I remember hearing lightning and thunder, and every time it rains, I think about it. I think about almost dying, I think about how a crazy person was the only one who ever wanted me, and...I can't stand it," Emma grit her teeth and an involuntary shiver ran up her spine. "The sound of the rain," she clarified. "I hate the sound. I hate how it makes me remember."

 

Killian caught the teardrop on the pad of his thumb and kissed it. She smiled sadly. "Tell you what, Swan, I'm going to teach you how to swim, aye?"

 

Emma laughed. "Oh yeah, and why the hell would you do that, Jones?"

 

"Because you can overcome anything," he whispered so earnestly that her eyes widened. He caught another tear just before it fell, and her gaze grew tender the more he stared down at her like he was holding the world right at his fingertips. Maybe he was. Maybe home wasn't so far after all, and this curse? He swore it was lifted every time she laughed the way she laughed. "And the water's nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart."

 

"How can you do this, Killian?" Emma breathed. "How can you believe in me like this?" She shook her head like she couldn't quite believe it herself, and there she was again searching his eyes. He hoped she found answers.

 

"I've yet to see you fail."

 

*********

 

Emma lay asleep on his lap, her small frame curled up against his chest with her hands clasped loosely at the nape, and her face buried at the crooked of his neck. She shifted every now and then and he shifted along with her, making sure to keep the palm of his good hand firmly on her back while the fingers of his scarred hand continued to lightly brush up and down the intricacy of her french braid, his eyes held so deeply enthralled by the way each beautiful blond strand fit together, that only when he glanced up to the window did he realize the rain had long since ceased its heavy downpour and humidity clung to the pane, fog taking over the entire square of glass.

 

He looked back down at his sleeping Swan, one side of his mouth ticking up in reminiscence. 

 

They'd sought each other's arms for three-hundred and sixty five days now -not that he was counting. No, of course not. Of course he wasn't. 

 

Sometimes, when her even breathing finally convinced him that she was completely asleep, Killian would lean down quietly and place a soft kiss at the crown of her head or gently skim his lips over the space between her eyebrows.

 

He didn't know who he was anymore. The only thing he was certain of was that he no longer woke up after a nightmare blindly searching for that bottle of rum, that he'd scheduled an appointment with Dr. Whale to restart his physical therapy sessions and talk about his hand's condition more thoroughly, that it didn't hurt to say Milah's name anymore, and that when Robin and Will had ringed up to suggest catching up sometime, he had said yes.  _Yes._

 

"I love you, Emma," he confessed in a soft whisper and a rush of air. It was almost like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He bent his head down and pressed his cheek to the top of her head, and sighed in that way that radiated contentment. He would say it to her again when she was awake, when she was ready, but for now, right here, in this moment, Killian truly believed he was holding his future in his hands and he intended to fight for it, all demons that said otherwise be damned.

 

Emma moved slightly, one of her soft hands slowly sliding down his chest until she reached the spot where his heart beat and stopped, fisting the shirt tightly. Killian's eyes snapped open and widened slightly in shock when she pulled back from his neck to stare up at him in wonder. Those green pools didn't flick about his face this time, instead they locked with his gaze. He felt his breath hitch in his throat when her lips parted and then whispered, "I think I love you too."

 

Her other hand had wrapped around the back of his neck and now she suddenly pulled him down with a determination in her pull. Her eyes closed at the same time he dipped his tongue into her mouth and Emma's back arched up almost immediately, breasts pressing into his chest as his arm snaked around her waist and lifted her up slightly so that both her arms were free to encircle his neck. Their lips broke away for that one second and then her mouth was on his without warning, demanding and needy and tangling up with his tongue in a frantic dance from having waited too long. He gave as good as he got, tilting his head to the right to gain better access and kissing her back meaningfully, and when her head tilted to the left and her tongue flicked  _right there_ , something like a growl sounded from the back of his throat. His good hand slipped smoothly under her tank top and met skin, earning a soft gasp that he swallowed up in a searing kiss that was sure to leave her lips swollen red. Emma caught his bottom lip between her teeth and used this to tug his mouth to her, capturing it slowly and amorously so that her body melted against his, and he realized he wanted to savor this too.

 

"I want to savor this, Emma," he panted and tried for all he could to breathe when she was this close and managed to rolled her hips like  _that_ even when she was still sitting on his lap. She smiled against his lips and nodded dazedly, fingers sifting through the small curls at the nape of his neck and gripping his hair tightly when he ducked his head down and seized her in passionate kiss that stole his breath again. She tugged painfully on his hair, pulling in her impatience and frustation as she fought to keep up with each kiss that he refused to let her deepen, building her up higher and higher until she started to rock her hips faster and faster and for once, he was at a loss for words. All eloquence failing when the front of her teeth scraped against his and she straightened up to set her hands firmly on his shoulders and she took his face in her palms to kiss him back languidly. His hands automatically came up to grip her hips and center her where he wanted her, like all along his hands were prepared to catch her. "Truly, Emma," he mumbled and she just nodded, breaking away to suck on his bottom lip. His fingers ghosted over the clasp on her bra and a shiver ran up her spine. "I want to be inside you, love. I want to feel how your walls squeeze tight around me. I want to make you come and have you scream my name as I thrust you into oblivion," he whispered into her ear and felt her shudder in anticipation at the thought. "But more importantly, I want to make you  _mine._ "

 

Emma left nipping at his earlobe to grab onto the collar of his shirt. "Then do it, Killian," she whispered back fiercely. "Make me yours. Fuck me so hard that I forget my own name and...I don't know how long we survived without this," she breathed uncomprehending. He gently guided her back down onto the mattress,  and her hair fanned out when the back of her head hit the pillow and he hovered above her for a good minute, taking her in, admiring her form, his eyes raking up everywhere he will begin to memorize once she's bare to him. Her soft hands waste no time and go right under his shirt, tugging the material up as she goes and when its's halfway he helps her by pulling it over his head in one swift move. Her hands are on his chest hair immediately, not even before the shirt is disregarded on the floor, and they snake all the way up until she reaches his nipples. It leaves a trail of fire in its wake, and Killian suddenly grasps onto her thighs and her toes literally curl into the sheets as she inhales in a hiss. He dips two fingers into the waistband of her shorts and slowly pulls them down, holding her gaze the entire time, her eyes so open and trusting and the part of herself that Emma closes off to the world, but not to him. Not to him. Not anymore.

 

When her shorts reaches her ankles, she kicks them away, and Killian is quick to strip her of her underwear. She sits up to draw the tank top over her head and he takes the opportunity to bring his down his sweatpants and abandon his boxers so his already hard length is exposed to her as she is about to unclasp her bra. Emma freezes, and he lurches forward and plunges his tongue right into her open mouth and she reacts almost immediately, locking her legs around his waist and  _oh,_ this remaining layer won't do. The feel of his swelling cock brushing just  _inches_ from her entrance might be too much to bear. So close. So bloody close. He needs to be inside her now. They've waited for two years and now he just wants to watch her fall apart, to have her head fall back on a loud groan as he takes her breast in his mouth and sucks hard, to have her nails dig into his back and leave half-crescent marks that will serve as lovely reminders in the morning. She already writhes beneath him, breathing ragged, and lips swollen as he takes her into another heated kiss. Her hands slide down to grip his biceps as she chases after his lips, and he knows Emma Swan is it for him. She was always it for him.

 

"Killian..." she sighed and he smiled softly down at her, because whether he wanted to or not, the fragments of his broken heart have long since found a way to fit back together again because of her. He almost can't remember being broken. And he'll probably never be worthy of her, but tonight she welcomes him to explore every inch of her skin and he will do just that. He will plant his teeth into her collarbone and soothe the bite along her neck with his tongue. He will commit to memory every moan she releases as he begins to move inside of her, searching for that spot that will make her see stars and cry out his name like a curse.

 

He leans forward and cups her chin in his scarred hand. "Tell me what you want, Emma."

 

"Make love to me," she breathed. "Just make love to me."

 

So he did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> -Thanks for reading!
> 
> \- After this one shot I'm sort of planning on going deeper into Killian's accident and Liam's death and his history with Milah and what happened there and also Emma's life before him and how they met each other in the first place and basically EVERYTHING I didn't include here, but it might take some time and I'm not very good at multi-tasking stories.
> 
> -If you have a spare moment, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this!


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